舞龙
by FightingHam
Summary: Zhao Yun finds out what dragons really are.
Obligatory Disclaimer:

\- I do not own Dynasty Warriors, Koei, or history. There's always wishful thinking though.

\- Having said that, this fic is highly unhistorical. It's practically an AU with all the timelines I ignored with abandon to fulfill a ship request. So if historical accuracy is your thing, best look elsewhere.

Happy reading.

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They always called me a dragon. Because I fought. Because I saved the right lives. Because I won.

She called me a dragon, too. I thought it was because of the same reasons, but she saw past the armor and the veneer. She saw me.

I remember the day we first met. It wasn't even a proper meeting, it was an accident. Yes. That's what it was—a quirk of fate. She should have been long gone once the forces of Shu stormed Lu Bu's castle, but for some reason our strategist had placed me out to guard the area's escape routes, in case the Man Amongst Men would make a grand run for it. To be honest, I was ready to die. I'm always ready to die, that's my secret. That's every warrior's secret.

Spear at the ready, I heard the back gate fly open. A woman on a horse shot out of the pass. I did not know who she was, but no one was allowed to get past me. Instinct moved my hand; I stabbed her steed in the neck and it crumpled onto the ground like a pile of old bricks. She looked me in the eyes, dead center, and I looked back. Where I expected fear, I found nothing. Yet her face drew me in as I stared, and the longer I stared, I began to think that she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. It was at that point that I realized that I was afraid, for her. I didn't want to hurt her. I apologized.

That was a mistake.

Quick as a snake, she leaped off the horse, whips at the ready. She cut into the earth and grazed my cheek. The sudden pain awakened my instincts once more. My eyes followed her as one would watch a tigress: wary, yes, but appreciative of its deadly graces. I studied her, but learned nothing. I asked her questions, all of which she answered with a silence and a cryptic smile. After a few passes, where she danced around my thrusts—none of which were aimed to kill—and where I parried her blows—all of which were meant to maim me, I could feel it—she asked for my name.

Zhao Yun of Shu, I told her with a shout. Seeing an opening, I aimed my spear for another strike. To my surprise, she laughed and dropped her whips. I pivoted at the last moment, throwing down my spear and taking her in an ill-timed tackle. Like the breeze, she slipped through my fingers. Or was it because I wanted her to slip through? In between my fall and her laugh, she stole my horse and ran away.

I thought I failed my lord.

Imagine my surprise when Lord Liu Bei summoned me to court with her by his side, making introductions. My lord thanked me for protecting her escape and honored me with a toast of fine liquor. There was laughter in her eyes as I received the cup, knowing I did no such thing.

Then, my lord asked her to dance for us.

It was like watching the petals sway in the spring breeze; my soul grew still with every step she took. Yet, as the dance progressed, the soothing breeze turned into a blazing summer wind, and the swaying petals collapsed into wildfire. Had she been holding her whips, the Generals of Shu would have died in that room, bleeding to death from a thousand cuts, and we wouldn't even know it.

This terrified me. I kept my distance after that. My heart was sworn to Shu and to Shu it would remain. She would only make me weak, I thought at the time.

The distance between us could be kept no longer after my lord sent her out on another mission. I was to be her guard and pretend husband, watching over her from the shadows as she dealt in lies and deceit for the good of my country. I made it a point never to watch her dance again, focusing on the crowd instead, watching their hands and faces for hints of murderous intent. Never did I find it; it was as if her dance alone could make them forget everything, if for just that moment.

We stayed in the same room, keeping the illusion of our marriage, but never on the same bed. I slept on the floor. She didn't like that. Sometimes she took to sleeping on the floor beside me, after which I would get up and stand outside, guarding the door. This went on for a week, then two, then three.

Then one night, after she entertained a famous businessman, she asked me to remove the complicated array of ornaments in her hair, some laced with poison. The request was reasonable enough; all the serving girls were busy in the kitchen, and I could not entrust this task to another man. Still, I hesitated as I took her hair in my hands. It was like a river of dark silk and a warrior such as myself did not know what to do with such opulence.

She looked into the mirror, laughing at the fear in my eyes. The fear turned into anger, then impatience. I asked for instructions, the way a soldier awaits the officer's orders. She gave none; instead, she turned and kissed me. Her lips pressed to mine, I forgot to breathe.

But I drew back.

She placed her hand on my chest, kissing me once more. Soon enough, we found ourselves on the bed. I wanted her, she wanted me. Our clothes fell from us quickly, obstacles to a passion that yearned to be expressed. My hands ran over her body, marveling at the softness of her flesh, the warmth of her breath, the music behind her sigh. She touched me with unbridled passion, tempered with a strange tenderness that made me love her all the more. Once again we were on the battlefield, me, dying with each thrust inside of her, and her, cutting my skin with tooth and nail as pleasure turned her fierce. The night passed quickly enough. Our lusts sated, I told myself: tomorrow, this will have been nothing but a dream.

That is not what happened. I began to watch her dance. I began to hate the men she danced for, and it was not a hatred born of my love for Shu.

One night, as I hid myself behind the curtains, I heard a struggle. The silhouette of a man pinning her to the ground urged me to action; before I even knew it, my spear went right through his head. Blood rained down on the floor, flooding the carpet, staining her skin.

A quiet moment passed between us. I thought she would scream.

Instead, she pushed the body away from her and stood up without a word; I waited for the judgment she would pass upon my actions. Had I done wrong? My heart felt light. I was only a dragon then, but I was her dragon now.

The fact remains: while a dragon chases after the light, his arms and feet are not his own; the dancers move him, as she moved me.

* * *

Author's note:

In case you were wondering, the title 舞龙 means "Dragon Dance".

But you probably already knew that, thanks to google translate. Good job. Stay curious, kids.


End file.
